


live free or die hard

by AliLamba



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Season/Series 01, Some Humor, Some Plot, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-06 00:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6729592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliLamba/pseuds/AliLamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Skye</em> knows that it's perfect for baby showers, birthdays, & breakfast. No one else seems to agree.</p><p>Or Skye has a craving for Reddi-wip and it's probably not great for her health.</p>
            </blockquote>





	live free or die hard

**Author's Note:**

> So. Uh. This was a failed attempt at a Skyeward Smut Week submission. I got my weeks confused and started writing something for the prompt ‘craving’ not realizing that I’d already submitted that fic. And then this was already mostly written and if it didn’t get finished now it would never be finished, so. Yeah. Also I don’t remember season one super well? Uh, whatever I’m awesome this is great.

 

 

Skye purses her lips, looking through the contents of the fridge. She has a feeling it’s like, the week before her period or something, because her hormones are a little distracting right now. Not only is she horny as _hell_ and tired all the time, but she wants to eat literally everything in sight. And that really isn’t helpful, considering her full-time profession involves running down bad guys and generally being in the best shape of her life.

“Looking for something?” Skye looks up, finds her SO bringing a cereal bowl back to the kitchen. “If it’s the milk I just used the last of it. Sorry.”

She doesn’t understand how he can say sorry, and sound like he is literally saying _not sorry._

“No, I’m good.” She closes the fridge. Sighs a little too roughly as she hops up onto the counter. Ward is at the sink, rinsing out his bowl, not looking at her, right next to her.

“Seriously, there’s no more milk.”

“No, it’s not that.”

He drops the bowl and the spoon in the dishrack. “Then what? you look like someone stole your puppy and you’ve just given up the search.”

She chews on the inside of her bottom lip. “It’s stupid.”

“Then keep it to yourself.”

Skye pouts. He can be so _gruff_. Ward is drying his hands.

“Did you ever, like, do you remember – Reddi-wip?”

He looks at the wall, considering. “That sounds like a type of paint.”

“It’s not. It’s like, this really sweet whip cream thing. It comes in a can.”

He’s auspiciously silent. “Sounds like a lot of calories.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Sounds like it shouldn’t be on your diet.”

“Hey, I’m young, remember? Metabolism of an infant.”

He looks at her, frowning in that way that lets her know he disagrees, but that it’s not worth the fight.

“Yeah, well, to answer your question: no. I’ve never had Reddi-wip.”

She jumps off the counter. “Oh man you have no idea what you’re missing. It’s so great. It comes in this can, and it has this nozzle? And the best – oh man the best is when you squirt it in your mouth, like – “ She mimes it, mimes the _shhhh_ sound it makes when it goes in. “Oh man, it’s the _best_.”

“That sounds truly disgusting.”

“It’s not!”

“And – seriously, you know what that looks like, right? What it sounds like? _Squirting it in your mouth?_ ”

Skye freezes. Her hand is still near her mouth, like she’s still holding the can. Her heart starts to beat a little faster inside her chest. Color is rising in her cheeks.

“Uh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well.”

“Skye.”

“It’s great.”

 

 

 

An hour later Coulson has them in for a tactical meeting. Skye’s role is mostly to report things from her computer screen, and after a moment, she distracts herself with a search engine.

“It’s the Real Cream Whipped Topping!” she calls out, to abrupt and sudden silence.

She realizes she interrupted something. Ward is frowning at her again.

Coulson squints. “Is she talking about Reddi-wip?”

May scowls. “Too many calories.”

 

 

 

And then they have a mission that takes them to an _actual grocery store_. Technically, it had started outside of it, but then the Project Centipede idiot had taken his hostage _inside_ , so now they’re all doing clean-up in aisle seven.

The Reddi-wip is just sitting there, between the orange juice and the creamer. Just looking at it makes Skye’s cheeks go pink.

“God damn internet,” she grumbles.

“What was that?” asks Coulson. It’s a little humbling seeing that man with a mop. He makes it look too friggen easy.

“Nothing,” she calls out, flopping her own mop around the floor in a way that seems to be making a bigger mess.

“You cannot steal the Reddi-wip.” Ward is suddenly at her side, and his mop seems to be fixing all her mistakes.

“I wasn’t going to – “ she darts a glance at the dairy section. “ _Steal_ the reddi-wip…”

“Well considering we just arrested the cashier, the store manager, and the busboy for laundering stolen artifacts I’m not sure how you’re going to pay them for it.”

Skye is silent for a moment. “Then they really should be getting ready for a going-out-of-business sale. Or – “

“ _Skye_ ,” he warns, and Skye shuts up.

 

 

“Oh you have got to be kidding me.”

They’re back on the Bus, and Ward has snuck up on her – again.

It wouldn’t be as embarrassing as all the other times, if she wasn’t using her laptop to look up DIY whip cream in an aerosol can.

“ _What?_ ” she snaps, defensive. She looks up and finds Ward hovering too close, glaring at the screen and then her.

“There is no way that stuff is at all worth it.”

She nearly sticks her tongue out at him. “How would you know.”

“Because I’ve had the real stuff.”

“You had a maid.”

“I’ve had – “ he straightens. “Fresh, straight-from-the-cow, hand-whipped, light-as-air  
crème fouettée with fresh mint on summer strawberries.”

She holds his gaze. “Sounds disgusting.”

His returning gaze is hard. “So does a laundry list of artificial ingredients that you apparently squirt into your mouth through a nozzle. Hard. Pass.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.” She turns back to the screen.

A painful moment passes, and then Ward cuts a sigh short.

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine, I’ll – I’ll help you get this…chemical, probably carcinogenic…crap.”

She’s too enthusiastic to be suspicious. And she squeals only a little as she hugs him.

 

 

“So what’s the plan here, boss.”

“Plan?”

“Yeah. Plan. We’re secret super spies. We always have to have a plan.”

“Okay. Well. _My plan_ – and feel free to edit wherever – was to enter the store, find the Reddi-wip, and then – and this is the odd part – _pay for it._ ”

“You’re not cute when you’re sarcastic, you know that, right?”

Again, the pursed lip, condescending glare. Skye rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I get it…fine…”

The Bus is refueling in the Viennese Alps, which takes awhile, and is one of the reasons Coulson found no reason to say no to their request for a ground errand. They’d borrowed a motorcycle (Skye is still learning how to drive one, Ward tried to give her pointers, she was too busy screaming inside) and are now at a larger-than-average supermarket chain, hoping for the best.

“So who’s going to pay for it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Pay for it. I mean – does this go under ‘miscellaneous expense’, or… ‘food’…”

He looks at her curiously. “You know we don’t clock out for lunch, right.”

“Yeah,” she says, defensive. “But I also am not totally sure I receive a paycheck, so – “

“This is your full time job and you’re _not sure if you receive a paycheck?_ ”

“Uh.” She blinks. “No?”

Ward turns away and starts walking into the store. Skye skips to catch up.

“What, am I supposed to be paying attention? Hello, my application process was abducting me out of a van. I was head-hunted. By head hunters.”

“That joke didn’t work as well as you think it did.”

“Okay, word play is not my thing. But seriously! It’s not like we have a very predictable job.”

“Which is why it’s even more important to make sure you’re being compensated accurately, Skye.”

“What, so we can like – pay taxes?” She’s caught up to his elbow. “Tell me, are we employees? Or independent contractors. I’ve never really figured out the difference.”

Ward stops and turns to her. “Employees fill out W-2s. Independent contractors set their own hours. We’re – “ He realizes what he sounds like. Frowns. “Let’s just get this over with and get back to the Bus.”

Skye grins.

 

 

Turns out – people in Vienna have no idea what they’re missing.

Skye pouts all the way back. She does, and Ward lets her.

Not that he has much to complain about. They had his favorite bran cereal.

 

 

 

Life goes on, naturally, and after awhile there are other, more important things to focus on. Bad guys. Strength training. For a few weeks everyone gets really competitive about Connect-4. Ward starts to trust her more and more to take care of herself. For a few missions he even lets her go in alone, and only like 50-75% of the time does he have to come and rescue her. She only trips and falls on her face in front of an adversary once – _one time_ – though Ward’s memory is long. He makes her practice ballet for two weeks.

“Skye! Wake up.”

She’d been drooling in the back seat of the SUV where she slept most of the time, and Ward’s shout almost makes her pee her pants.

“Jesus, Ward, give a girl a little warning next time, come _on!_ ”

He’s standing in the open door, hands on hips.

“Is that any way to talk to your _supervising officer?_ ”

“At this freaking hour of the morning, _yeah_ , I’m gonna say, it is.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah well. Get dressed. We’re in Miami for an hour, and it’s our turn to stock up on supplies.”

She makes a point of dragging her feet against the floor while heading to the showers. Until she trips on something, and falls flat on her face.

“Don’t – I’m not going to do ballet again!”

 

 

 

“This is just a short trip.”

“What, did Agent May make us a list,” Skye says, mostly joking.

Ward looks at her. “Yes.”

The smile drops from her face. _Okay._

Ward grabs a cart and they head inside. The freezing AC of the supermarket is like stepping from boiling water to ice water, and she shivers. For awhile the job is strictly routine, lots of “seven navel oranges” and “frisee lettuce – no, no – _frisee_ that’s just – that’s just a potato”. It’s a busy day so the store’s pretty full, and Skye almost enjoys the activity of being vaguely normal for awhile.

They’re standing in the check-out lane when Skye remembers.

“Oh!”

“What, did we only get six navel oranges? Skye I told you – “

“No, no, we got seven” (she thinks), “no, it’s just – _Ward_.” She gives him a meaningful look.

“What?”

She keeps giving him the meaningful look. It takes awhile, but then –

“No. No! Absolutely not.”

“Ward, c’mon, _please!_ ” she whines.

“No! there is no nutritional value in Reddi-wip.”

“Uh, it’s like, a dairy, hello?”

“And that means…”

“Uh, I dunno, protein?”

He narrows his gaze.

“If Reddi-wip has _one gram_ of protein per serving I swear I will buy you a case.”

She grins, hops a little, and takes off toward the dairy case.

 

 

 

“Skye, really, it’s no reason to pout.”

He’s not helping.

“I tried to tell you – “

She huffs out a sigh.

Ward frowns. “You know, we should really get you to meet with a nutritionist. Honestly. This job requires _supreme physical conditioning_. What you put in your body has a direct correlation to what you get out of your body. I’m not just saying this to nag at you, Skye.”

She glances out the window, feeling moderately glum about it.

“I know.”

And it’s the last thing that she remembers, before the car blows up.

 

 

 

At some point later, Coulson will tell her what happened. That the cashier had been a subject of Project Centipede (a pretty long con, she has to give them credit), and jumped at the chance to take down two known agents of SHIELD. Ward was heroic, the threat was neutralized, and Skye was passed out the entire time.

She wakes up in the med bay with burns to twenty-percent of her body and a mild concussion. The good news? Ward got her back to the Bus fast enough, and Simmons has an opportunity to test out the burn-healing salve she’s had in her lab for months. After a few hours it looks like she won’t have any permanent marks. Or if she does, they’ll be minimal, more like shadows than anything, and Skye tells her that is freaking awesome.

She’s playing with her blanket, trying not to feel self-conscious about the fact that she was so unhelpful during the fight, when there’s a knock on her door. Skye frowns. “Yeah?” she shouts out. “Er. Come in,” she amends.

Ward’s head appears in the doorway. He looks – jesus, he looks like crap. “Is now a bad time?”

She takes pity on him. “Hey, I don’t sleep _all the time_.”

He recognizes the attempt at a joke, and ducks his head as he steps inside, closing the door behind him. He’s staring at the floor. Then he takes a deep breath, and meets her eyes.

“You okay?”

She nods for a minute. “Yeah. Ward, I’m – I’m fine.” She chews heavily on the inside of her cheek. “ _Thank you_ ,” she says.

“No, it’s all my fault,” he says, taking a step toward her, looking like he genuinely means it as he takes the chair next to the bed. “Skye, I should’ve known the cashier was – I should’ve recognized it – I should’ve noticed we were being tailed and I – “ He takes another deep breath. “I _failed you_ , Skye.”

She looks at him them, her brow all scrunched in concern. He really believes it, that this is his fault, and that’s the worst.

“Ward,” she tries, over a scratchy throat. She wets her lips. “Last I checked there were two agents in the field yesterday. And this job is dangerous. The pay is crap, but.” She holds his gaze, sees all his blatant distress. Not even her dumb jokes are going to make him relax. “Seriously. I’m fine.”

Ward hangs his head. It stays there for a moment, and then he nods at the ground, like he’s reassuring himself that she’s telling the truth. “I know.” He looks up at her. “Yeah, I know. I know.”

They look at each other then, for maybe too long a time, maybe not long enough.

“Please don’t make me do ballet again?”

He finally smirks. It looks sort of pathetic, really, because his mouth breaks but the rest of his face doesn’t get the memo that it’s okay to laugh, and he looks more like he’s being tortured by a persistent bee. “Well, you kind of sucked at it anyway, so.” He looks away, wets his lips, coughs to clear his throat.

“I uh. I brought you something.”

She perks up immediately. “You did? Please tell me it’s trashy magazines. C’mon. Soap Opera Digest? National Enquirer. I’m so good at the sudoku in the National Enquirer.”

He laughs a little more now. “No, but, I’ll remember that for next time.” Neither of them dwell on the fact that there _will be_ a next time.

Ward pulls out a paper bag that Skye hadn’t noticed he was hiding in a back pocket. It’s tall and skinny, paper all wrinkled like it’d been held by sweaty hands, and she knows what it is immediately.

Her eyes light up. “You _didn’t_.”

“I _did_ ,” he mimics. He hands over the package, and Skye rips off the paper immediately. “I figured, in your weakened state, you probably…needed the calories.”

She grins, squeals even a little, tearing off the plastic cap. “Simmons says I can eat?”

“Simmons says you can eat,” he confirms, to more moderate squealing. Skye shakes the can vigorously, holds the nozzle up to her mouth, and squirts.

It’s delicious. Cool and sweet. She groans just a little because it’s seriously so great. And then she realizes Ward’s still in the room, and her eyes open wide, and she swallows, pulling the can away from her lips.

“Oh. Yeah.”

He’s looking vaguely horrified.

“I totally get it now.”

“You should.”

Skye holds his gaze for another moment. She does. And then she brings the can back to her mouth, and her cheek fills again as she squirts the real cream whipped topping into her mouth through a small plastic nozzle. She grins whole-heartedly when Ward leaves in disgust, and hunkers down into her pillows.

Totally worth it.


End file.
